


Inquisitor! Being the Saga of her Trials as the Herald of Andraste...

by Miladygrey



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Multi, Orlesians ruin everything, Satire, affectionate mockery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miladygrey/pseuds/Miladygrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the Orlesians wrote a play about it all after the fact. As you do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inquisitor! Being the Saga of her Trials as the Herald of Andraste...

**Author's Note:**

> F!Cadash Inquisitor/Iron Bull. All decisions referenced in the "play" were choices I made in my first playthrough. Should be safe for general audiences, although there are innuendoes here and there. What else would you expect from Orlesians?
> 
> Written for the seventh round of the Dragon Age Kinkmeme on LJ, prompter requested "Inquisition goes to a play" in the style of the A:TLA episode "The Ember Island Players". Goofiness and sarcasm abound here, folks. I hope you like it, anon, I had a great time writing it!

**PROLOGUE**  
 _The Hearthfire Players Present_  
Their Newest Work of Dramatic Entertainment  
INQUISITOR!  
Being the Saga of her Trials as the Herald of Andraste, her Quest to Defeat the Darkspawn Magister Corypheus, and Uniting the Land in the Pursuit of This Blessed Cause  
To be performed at the Reville Playhouse in Val Royeaux to a Select Premiere Audience 

Audrun Cadash glared down at the gilt-edged card, then back up into Josephine's admittedly sympathetic face. “I have to go, don't I?”

“It is about you, and written—so they say—in your honor. It would be the height of rudeness not to at least show up. I will add that it would also be rude to stand up in the middle of the play and correct any inaccuracies.”

“Josephine, I grew up in the Carta. Faking interest while wanting to murder everyone present is second nature to me. I can attend a play and smile even if I hate it.” With a sigh, she demonstrated. “See? After all this time, your diplomacy is rubbing off on me.”

“Nevertheless, I do intend to accompany you. Yvette claims she helped paint some of the backdrops. And it does no harm to be perceived as a patron of the arts in Val Royeaux.” She chuckled, picking up the invitation and scribbling an acceptance on the back. “I promise, you will not suffer alone.”

The group that ended up making the trip to Val Royeaux with Audrun and Josephine was the usual cheerful mix. Iron Bull wouldn't hear of being left behind--”The snacks at Orlesian parties are the best!”--and Varric said he wouldn't miss this for the world. Dorian decided to come as well, having read some of the troupe's plays in a collected edition and enjoyed them, and Cole simply wanted to see “all the lovely hats” again. Cassandra was persuaded into the group with the promise that no one would recite the full list of her names. They were escorted into the playhouse upon arrival, given front-row seats, and generally treated with the sort of grovelling obeisance that made Dorian preen, Cassandra roll her eyes, and Audrun grit her teeth.

The curtain lifted with a swoosh, revealing a set made up entirely of grey rocks, tossed about in heaps that were almost certainly symbolic, with a tower at stage right. A few bodies lay in the foreground, ostentatious mage staves or templar sigils facing the audience, while two more actors in nondescript false armor walked back and forth across the stage. 

“No one could have survived this!” said one loudly. “Not even Divine Justinia herself! It would have to be a SIGN from BLESSED ANDRASTE to find one living soul--”

There was a dramatic flare of green light that clearly silhouetted the troupe's mage behind the curtain. A figure rose from behind a tumble of stones and declaimed “Bright Lady, your hand!--” before swooning into a graceful heap.

“I coughed,” Audrun muttered as the “Inquisitor” was carried offstage and the lights briefly dimmed. “Possibly even vomited a little, the air was two parts ash...”

“You are simply determined to take all the joy out of everything, aren't you?” Dorian said from her left. “It's a _play_ , my dear Inquisitor. Some things are going to be dramatized. If I were you, I'd be more annoyed that they cast a human to play a dwarf.” 

“They didn't.”

“They did,” Varric confirmed. “Something about dwarves not having the right passion for the role. Also, the troupe only has one dwarf, and...” He coughed modestly. “...he already had a part to play.”

Right on cue, the lights came back up, and the Inquisitor (her hair longer than Audrun's had ever been, and without a facial tattoo to be seen) was slumped in a chair in the 'tower'. Two women and a dwarf were arguing nearby.

“She is a force of evil, sent through the Breach to seal our doom!” declared the brunette in ornate black-and-silver armor, her Nevarran accent syrup-thick.

“She was saved by Andraste Herself, and sent through the breach to give us hope!” countered a willowy redhead in an equally thick Orlesian accent and significantly less clothing than the current Divine Victoria ever wore.

“This is going to make a great novel!” said the dwarf, scribbling in a little notebook he happened to have handy. The crossbow strapped on his back added a few inches to his height. It also had a bright-red heart painted on its stock. 

Audrun squinted. “Did they glue an entire fennec to his torso to serve as chest hair?”

“Authenticity,” Varric said solemnly.

“Eyes wide open,” Cole murmured. “All their thoughts sharp and stark, black and white. As though the path were carven and clear to follow through the dark wood. Cassandra's lines are wrong.”

“You think so, kid? Sounds just like the Seeker to me.”

“No. The lines on her face.”

Cassandra huffed softly.

“He's right, I'm afraid,” Josephine craned her neck. “Your scar is on the wrong side.”

“Maker's mercy, I came to their foolish ball and _danced_ with some of them, and they still cannot remember what I look like?”

Before Cassandra could graduate from huffing to disgusted snorting, a blond man swept in from stage left. He wore a red-and-black cape, and leggings sewn to look like armor, but no shirt. He also appeared to have been discreetly oiled.

“It is the Maker's will that I lead our soldiers in the fight, but how the burden of command weighs!” He struck a pose, and his pectorals flexed. “Blessed Andraste, send me a sign to strengthen my resolve...” The Inquisitor in the chair took a deep breath, leading to a display of hithertofore unseen cleavage, and his eyes were suddenly riveted.

Dorian clapped his hands together softly. “Oh, this is my new favorite play.”

“Mine too,” murmured Josephine. “I must find out that actor's name.”

“Cullen?” Audrun said blankly. “ _Cullen?_ ”

“It's called 'setting up a love triangle', Inquisitor. Oldest plot thread in the book. 'S'why I threw a sexy apostate mage into volume three of Swords and Shields, right, Seeker?”

“The Guard-Captain's feelings never wavered,” she said haughtily. “Her heart was always true.”

“Remind me to show you the alternate chapters I wrote for that volume sometime.”

“Hush,” Bull rumbled from Audrun's right. “We're getting to the action!”

Onstage, the plot was advancing. The Inquisitor awoke, protested her innocence and wept discreet and attractive tears for the lost, and was hauled out onto the mountainside by a still-scowling Cassandra. Solas was introduced. He was played by a human in a dreadful pair of false elf ears, and managed three pratfalls with his staff in four minutes.

“Is it wrong that I'm picturing him freezing this entire stage in a block of ice?”

“I'm happy to stand in for him in that regard,” Dorian muttered. “This degree of buffoonery is ridiculous, even from Orlesians.”

Audrun sighed as the Inquisitor closed her first Fade breach in another burst of green light, sword in one hand and bosom outthrust. “Fasten your straps, it's going to be a bumpy night.”

 **ACT ONE**  
“By the Stone, if she says she's the Herald of Andraste _one more time_ \--”

“It is what most people still choose to believe,” Josephine said placatingly. “And as Varric pointed out, it makes the story much better.”

“I'm not even Andrastian! I say that to everyone! Do I have to post signs? Stencil it on my armor? Do you think Dagna would--?”

“Never mind that.” Cassandra was seething. “Could they have made Lucius look any more villainous without actually summoning an envy demon to play him?”

“It's good they didn't do that.”

“Yes, Cole. Not even _idiot actors who don't know reality from a mining tunnel_ would do that.”

Rather than dramatize each and every unique meeting with her various companions, the play chose to have them all arrive at Haven after the trip to Val Royeaux and introduce themselves together.

“You will need my political clout as well as my magic,” declared 'Vivienne'. “And my fashion sense.”

“I was drawn to your goodness from beyond the Veil,” murmured a pale, poetic-looking young man in a giant hat.

“Let's kill bad guys, yeah?” giggled an elf in bright motley, punctuating her comment with a loud fart noise.

“I am...a Warden! Totally not anything else! Griffons and darkspawn and HONOR! ALWAYS HONOR!”

Josephine started giggling guiltily. Audrun and Iron Bull shared rueful glances. “If he ever planned to come back to Orlais again, and if he were speaking to me...”

“Ah, I don't think he's going to be able to find this funny for a few more years. Hey, there I am!”

The Iron Bull was portrayed by a reasonably big human painted grey, with giant paper-mache horns and wearing nothing but leather pants. “I came because my men are great, and because I am the best you'll ever have!” Painted-on black brows waggled. “At _everything_.”

Bull's elbow dug into her ribs as the audience tittered. “Now there's some historical accuracy for you, kadan.”

“Except for the leather pants.”

“Eh, someday we'll take down a bronto big enough. Till then, there's always no-pants Fridays.”

Finally, a man swaggered onstage in shiny faux-armor that bared both shoulders, his chest and stomach all the way down to his hipbones, and a truly magnificent hat. His mustache was waxed to points clearly visible, and his staff was...definitely symbolic.

“It has a knob on the end,” Cole said with interest. Cassandra and Josephine had identical jaw-dropped expressions on their faces.

“I can't decide whether to be insulted or flattered.”

“See what they have you say as an intro, first,” Varric advised.

“The might of the Tevinter Imperium stands with the Herald!” declared 'Dorian'. “For not all of us share the madness of the Elder One. Besides, you're prettier, and so is your Knight-Commander.” An outrageous wink.

Dorian blinked for a second, then shrugged while Bull chortled. “I'll take it.”

“Come, my Inquisition! To the Breach!” Everyone marched offstage in step (except for Solas, who tripped over his staff), with a billow of false thunder and rousing cheers.

“What? No hours clambering along the Storm Coast? No killing every last blasted undead in the Fallow Mire? No chasing druffalo all over the Hinterlands? No weird time-travel and battle with Venatori?”

Varric chuckled. “Doesn't contribute to the plot. Druffalo never contribute to any plot. And I'd hate to see how they dealt with...that whole mess.”

“It's not something I'd care to see played out, either. Living it, however briefly, was bad enough.” Dorian sounded somber.

Then there was Breach-closing, and dragons, and Corypheus' big reveal, and there was too much speechifying for a bit to allow for commentary.

 **ACT TWO**  
“The Herald! Oh Andraste, the Herald lives!” Despite the alleged blizzard swirling about them (represented by a fair amount of shredded paper), Commander Cullen was still not wearing a shirt as he scooped the actress up in his muscled arms. “Prepare the camp! Summon a healer! Our hope is not yet lost! Although my heart is long-since lost,” he added in a loudly-whispered aside to the audience.

“He is going to blush himself right on fire when we tell him about this.”

“He may also descend upon the troupe with his sword drawn for slander,” Cassandra murmured. “Is he _groping_ her?”

“She's not complaining. Cassandra, I thought you were the one who hauled my carcass back to camp that night.”

“I was. I suppose my doing so would not be so...” She snorted. “...picturesque.”

Iron Bull and Cullen jostled around the Inquisitor's cot as each mage in turn worked to heal her. Well, Vivienne did, Dorian stroked his staff suggestively and side-eyed Cullen before doing so, and Solas caused a bunny to appear, and a nug which Sera chased about, and only then accomplished some alleged 'healing'.

“I am terribly afraid that this play may set back all the good we have done for the elves of Orlais,” Josephine said, making a note. “I will have a word with the troupe leader, and perhaps send a polite letter to the Empress.”

“They never saw him, wolf-eyed and waiting.” Cole picked anxiously at a loose thread on his seat cushion. “No solace for them, for the mockers, the malicious...”

“It's thoughtlessness on their part, Cole, not malice aforethought. Solas would likely have some sharp words for them, but I daresay he's seen worse.” Audrun patted his hand gently. “Wherever he is.”

They did not, thank the Maker, re-enact the impromptu singing, perhaps because the actors were not trained in musicale style. Instead, the revived Inquisitor made a stirring speech, all of which was entirely made up.

“I may be merely a dwarf...”

“Merely?” Audrun growled, and Varric made a dismissive noise.

“...but I have the heart of a Champion, and a soul made radiant in the flames of Andraste...”

“By the Stone that made me, I am going to beat this playwright's head in.”

“Can I persuade you to wait until intermission?”

“...and the Maker will guide us to our new home, where the Inquisition will grow strong again!” With a sweeping gesture, the Inquistor signaled a change in lighting, revealing the outline of a castle projected on the backdrop. “Skyhold! Where we will live, and love--” She shot coy glances at both Cullen and Iron Bull. “--and make our plans, in safety and comfort. Are you with me, Inquisition?”

Skyhold was established, Marian Hawke and Stroud were both introduced, Varric snorting laughter when his onstage counterpart grabbed possessively onto Hawke's hand the instant she sauntered into view, and the Wardens were saved from themselves in half an hour. Warden-Commander Clarel apologized for her error at length despite dangling from a dragon's jaws, and the Inquisitor and Hawke leapt athletically from the Fade, a long fabric tentacle-leg snaking out after them before another flash of green light made it vanish. Blackwall's actor made a speech that referenced honor six times and griffons four, and everyone cheered despite his obviously shifty eyes. Then, as the Skyhold set reappeared, Cullen walked pensively across what was meant to be a rampart, and the Inquisitor appeared to the sound of a mournful flute.

“I can't watch.” Audrun covered her eyes.

“I will watch for you,” Josephine offered generously. “If I am not mistaken, that actor reapplied the oil while offstage.”

“He did indeed,” Dorian murmured. “Did you ever consider--?”

“No.”

“If he'd walked around looking like that, I would have,” Bull rumbled.

“Bull, as your alleged kadan, NO.”

The Inquisitor and Cullen stared hotly at each other, Bosoms heaved. Cullen dropped to one knee. “I must tell you—you have inspired me—for you, I would leave the Templars and love you as dearly as the Maker loved his bride!”

The audience gasped, the sound of fluttering fans filling the playhouse.

Somehow, the actress kept her eyes on Cullen's face, and not his gleaming chest. “Oh Knight-Commander, your heart is great, and I would welcome it. But I am a humble dwarf, with a lineage simple as the stones around us...”

“That would be more convincing if she wasn't _looking him in the eye_.” 

“...and to take you from your calling as a servant of the Maker and inspiration to the Templars would wound us all to the quick.” She clasped his hand, then clasped it to her bosom. “Your men need you even more than I. We can never be. Forgive me. If things were different--” She turned and ran offstage, leaving Cullen with his hand outstretched and an expression like a whipped dog.

“Well, that was the dumbest thing I've ever—Cassandra, are you tearing up?”

Cassandra took the handkerchief Josephine passed her, blinking furiously. “I am _not_.”

“It was very stirring,” Dorian said sympathetically. “I feel the urge to go down and comfort the poor fellow.”

Varric was scribbling notes on the back of his program. “...lineage simple as the stones. That's spectacular. I'm stealing it.”

“Why did she go directly to your room, The Iron Bull?” Cole asked politely. The scene had shifted to the Inquisitor and the Bull's actor furiously and wetly kissing.

“Tell you later, kid.” Bull was riveted.

“Perhaps it's my base and earthy nature, but I cannot help being drawn to you!” declared the actress breathlessly.

“And while I have turned my back on the Qun, I have found something better! Give me orders, my lady, and I will follow you into any rift!” He picked her up and swung her around, the false horns almost tearing her bodice.

“There's only one rift I wish you to traverse with me now,” she said with a wink, and as their lips met again, the stage went dark. Bull cheered raucously, Dorian sniggered, and Audrun just tried to dissolve into her chair.

 **ENTR'ACTE**  
“And how are you enjoying the play, my Lady Inquistitor?” The head of the troupe, a skinny middle-aged human who served as director as well as acting in background parts, was hovering solicitously around Audrun as she sipped her complimentary wine. She resisted the urge to start listing her grievances, and, mindful of Josephine's watching eyes, said carefully “Your actors are very enthusiastic, ser.”

“To have the chance to portray the greatest heroes of our time has made them hone their skills to the utmost, my Lady. Why, Dernierre and Tolbine—they play Commander Cullen and Mage Pavus—nearly came to blows as to who would play the coveted role of the Knight-Commander.”

“And the young lady who is doing her utmost to play me?”

“Mireille Coramonde, a delightful girl, with great potential! It was she who suggested an unrequited love to add spice to the story. Not that your burly lover is not magnificent on his own merits--”

“You bet I am.” Bull reappeared beside her, one broad palm full of cheese cubes and tiny ham sandwiches, and she held back a smile when the Orlesian blanched a bit in the face of Bull's looming presence. “Great work all around. The dragon at Adamant was clever, just not scary enough.” Leaning in, he added in a confidential growl, “We've killed nine, you know, she and I. Dragons.”

The man's eyes positively lit up. “Perhaps you could tell me about it, ser!”

A couple of the actors were circulating through the crowd, answering questions and signing autographs, and Audrun paused when she heard the voice of the man playing Solas. “I mean, every role has the capacity for greatness, and I view Solas as the light-hearted soul—haha--of the Inquisition, there to remind us all of the simple pleasures of life, and the simple folk these heroes are fighting for...”

“Do you know what his favorite fighting style was?” She asked when he paused to breathe, finding small satisfaction in the way the actor and his little cluster of fans murmured and shifted nervously when she spoke.

“I...no, my Lady Inquisitor. I mean, he was a mage, so I assume magic...”

“He used elemental ice. I once saw him point his staff at a charging Venatori mage, freeze him solid, then rap the lump just so, so that it shattered into a hundred pieces of ice and fabric and frozen blood.” She smiled the smile that she knew made her black tattoo turn into scowl-lines. “He never tripped over his staff. Not once. And if he hadn't been in the Fade with me at Adamant, Fade-ignorant dwarf that I was, I don't know that we would have made it out with only the one loss.” She let her smile vanish, then turned her back and stalked off.

She saw Cassandra lurking in a corner, and picked her way towards her. Just before she reached her, an Orlesian lady in a dress of silver-laced black and a mask that was reminiscent of the Seeker eye swept up to the woman. “Ah, I see you are another discerning admirer of Lady Penteghast.”

Cassandra opened her mouth, closed it, then nodded minutely, which the lady took for encouragement. “You have her expression perfectly, I must say. But a word of caution—your scar is on the wrong side.” She tapped Cassandra's unscarred cheek with her fan, then swirled away. Audrun could hear the Seeker huffing indignantly as she walked to her side.

“Remember, we're not supposed to kill people here. Maybe afterward, at the garden party.”

The huffing turned into an irritated chuckle. “Yes, I suppose that as guests, we must behave ourselves. I am simply not used to being...a character in a story.”

“Now you know how I've felt for the last year. Have another drink.”

“We're all someone else's story,” came Cole's voice. Audrun whirled, but he was merely standing beside her, watching the milling crowd with a curious air. “You are theirs, and they are yours. You dream of peace, of days spent in sunlight and nights with him in the warm and wanting dark--”

“Cole. Not here.”

“Sorry. And they dream of you standing by the Breach, ready to act, ready to answer a call. It may not be real, or real yet, or real ever, but good dreams nevertheless, and they're all because of you.” He paused, and his voice became less distant. “They're about to start again. And The Iron Bull is sneaking snacks back to our seats.”

“One of the many reasons why I love him,” she said wryly to Cassandra as they joined the throng.

 **ACT THREE**  
“They're going to make an entire act about Halamshiral?” she said in disbelief.

“They're an Orlesian troupe, performing in Orlais,” Josephine pointed out. “There will very likely be some political commentary, and some buttering up to Empress Celene. Ask me if you don't understand a reference.”

“I was wondering more how they're going to dramatize my climbing up trellises and finding all those stupid halla statues...by the broken _Stone_ , what am I _wearing_?”

It was low-cut in the front, even lower-cut in the back, and was a delightful shade somewhere between pink and transparent. On the human actress, gliding onstage on Iron Bull's arm with Cullen trailing forlornly in their wake, it looked both formal and risque. It would have fallen right off Audrun, or possibly smothered her. “I look like I just climbed out of a brothel bed!”

Bull's big hand briefly rested, heavy and warm, on her nape. “Not a bad look on you, kadan. Just saying.”

“Definitely not...what one would normally wear to a negotiation,” Dorian murmured tactfully. “I'm rather sorry now I didn't attend with you, just to see what I would have been wearing.”

Sera pranced in wearing the same motley she'd had throughout the play, albeit with a mask, and the actress playing Vivienne did manage to capture the enchanter's hauteur while wearing little more than a few strategic pieces of white fabric and a hennin. Grand Duke Gaspard appeared with a flourish of a drum to indicate his villainous status, and Briala peeked ostentatiously out from among the 'guests' as Empress Celene and Grand Duchess Florianne welcomed everyone.

As Josephine had predicted, there were a lot of political in-jokes. Every noble that had supported Gaspard was either stupid, lecherous, or in league with the Venatori, everyone who had supported Celene was virtuous and easily persuaded as to the truth of the Inquisitor's claims, and all the elves spied, lied, reported to Briala, and changed sides without a qualm when offered a better job or a handful of coin. The Inquisitor danced with Florianne and engaged in a verbal duel, danced with Cullen and reminded him of his duty to the Templars and the Maker while he stared down her barely-there bodice, danced with Gaspard and delivered a blistering reprimand about tearing the empire apart, and...did something with Iron Bull.

“I could do that,” he commented. “Properly. We'd need a better blindfold than your turned-around mask, though. And probably a softer surface than that desk, for your fragile human bits...”

“Bull. Later.”

“Oh no, do go on. I'm enthralled,” purred Dorian.

“Maybe I should try the romance market again, if this is what goes on in Orlesian high society,” Varric mused. “Oops, I think the climax is starting.”

“Started five minutes ago, weren't you paying attention?”

“BULL.”

Rather than the frantic chase around the gardens with an armed and very deft Florianne, the Inquisitor confronted her before the entire court, at which point she made a stirring villainous speech and lunged clumsily for Celene. She was deflected with a casual blow from the Inquistor's sword, and apparently died on the floor from sheer embarrassment, at which point Gaspard and Briala surrendered on principle and were led out with Sera blowing raspberries at them. Celene made a stirring heroic speech which implied she had been working with the Inquisition the entire time to unmask the traitors and that she had never been in any danger whatsoever, and gave the Inquisitor a kiss of thanks that hovered on the verge of being unchaste.

“She wasn't _that_ grateful. And I wouldn't have wanted her to be.”

“These sorts of intrigues must always end with the status quo remaining intact. That is to say, the Empress is good and wise and ultimately in charge of everything.” Josephine sighed a little. “Have you noticed that my actress says nothing? She just trails along behind everyone, writing things down. I am a little hurt.”

“Your story is written between the lines.” Cole said quietly. “Favors done, secrets learned, kindnesses given. If you were the heroine of a play, you'd be doing it wrong.”

Josephine looked surprised, then smiled a little and squeezed Cole's hand. “Thank you.”

“Vivienne's actress has little to say as well,” Cassandra noted.

“Can you imagine what scathing havoc Vivienne would wreak if she decided she didn't like how she was portrayed?” Josephine hid a smile. “The playwright wisely erred on the side of caution when it came to her inclusion.”

 **ACT FOUR**  
Everyone paraded back to Skyhold, with a red-clad witch trailing behind and whining about the Empress no longer needing her. Having finished what was clearly the _important_ part at Halamshiral, the play started charging towards the endgame. There was a bit in the Exalted Plains where the Inquisitor saved a troop of soldiers and brought them the good news of the civil war ending. The entirety of Sahrnia Quarry was liberated in one battle against four knights with red sequins dappling their false armor, and the Emerald Graves and the Hissing Wastes were summarized and dismissed in one long expositional speech by Cullen, who was still giving the Inquisitor calf-eyes despite the fact that she was leaning against Iron Bull the entire time. “And now,” he said dramatically, “we must face Samson.”

“Samson!” she exclaimed, with a shudder that made her bosom bounce visibly.

“Samson!” chorused the other actors on-stage.

“Samson!” roared a voice from the wings, accompanied by a sooty flare of red light.

“What's this guy's name again?” Varric muttered to Audrun. “Shoddy storytelling at its finest.”

“I like how he wasn't a threat until right this minute,” she murmured back. “We definitely didn't devote hours of research and digging through that sodding quarry to finding out his plans and his weaknesses.”

Rather than tramping through the Arbor Wilds, Samson obligingly came to them, bare-chested (“Is this a Templar thing no one bothered to tell me about?” Dorian asked with interest) and studded all over with carefully-polished bits of red glass rather than sequins. He began to give another villain speech, but the Inquisitor cut him off mid-sentence to start the fight, which was over in under a minute due to Samson's surprise at being denied his monologue.

“I foresee a couple of unplanned trouncings for her during rehearsal,” Bull laughed. “The best part of playing a villain is getting to rant about it.”

“How would you know?”

“Ever played good-guardsman-bad-guardsman? What am I saying, you were in the Carta, you probably _were_ the bad guardsman.” He grinned unrepentantly when Cassandra glared at him.

Samson was defeated, judged in dramatic fashion...and then Blackwall was dragged in, chained and looking defiant, to stand before the throne.

“Behold the criminal, Thom Ranier!” declaimed Cullen.

“Am I not to get one line in this entire sham of a play?” Josephine hissed. 

Blithely unaware of the glaring inaccuracy, Cullen continued. “He murdered the entire Callier family, left his men to take the blame, and has been posing as a Grey Warden for years. He has lied to us all! What say you, Inquisitor?”

The Inquisitor on stage pointed an accusing finger. “You swore your service to the Inquisition as Warden Blackwall, and Warden Blackwall you shall remain. You will follow my orders until our victory is won—and the Inquisition is all you shall ever have. Expiate your sins, child-killer and traitor, the rest of your life belongs to _me_.”

Audrun sighed quietly. “Of all the parts to get exactly right...”

“I think the guardsmen of Val Royeaux are still upset that you had me pull strings to extricate him from their dungeon. This is...closure, of a sort.”

“I'm so delighted _they_ get closure.”

“He hurt people,” Cole said earnestly. “You made certain he won't hurt anyone ever again, only help. That was the right thing to do.”

“It felt like being in the Carta again,” she muttered. “I was getting used to not feeling like a criminal, or a puppetmaster.”

Blackwall was dragged offstage, and the Inquisitor was allowed a monologue about weariness and difficult decisions before a throaty roar announced the arrival of Corypheus' dragon. The stage was a melee of overdone fighting, with Corypheus' actor looming above everyone, the dragon's head appearing from offstage periodically to add to the chaos, and Solas dramatically sneaking away near the climax, announcing that this was not his fight and he preferred the peace of the Fade.

“I would almost rather they have suggested he died at the hands of Corypheus,” Cassandra said disapprovingly as the audience jeered. “We may never know what has become of him, but he deserves a better legacy than this.”

“Do they really think that a darkspawn magus just stood there and let us run past him in a line and hit him?” Dorian snorted.

“Stagecraft, Sparkles, stagecraft.” Varric leaned forward. “There we go, tucked right between the arm and the armpit. Time for some flailing death throes.”

There was flailing, and howling in what was supposed to be old Tevene, and sprays of supposedly darkspawn blood represented by unrolling red-and-black ribbons. The Inquisitor stood above him, green-splashed palm down, and remanded him “back to the Void, if it will have you, in Andraste's blessed name!” Corypheus expired with one last shriek, and the audience erupted in applause. Audrun and her friends clapped along politely.

The plaintive flute started up again, and the Inquisitor and Bull shared a tender moment while the remaining companions peeked out from between two painted bushes—Varric writing frantically in his book, Sera sticking out her tongue, Dorian making a sultry face and winking. The last to appear was Cullen, who looked longingly at the Inquisitor and sighed loudly enough to nearly blow the thin wooden prop over. Then all the actors filed out, lined up along the stage, and chanted:

_“Now our revels here have ended_  
In goodwill and Maker's light  
May all leave pleased and unoffended  
Grace upon you, and goodnight!”

The playhouse almost vibrated with applause. There were two curtain calls. The actor playing Cullen put a shirt on, then stripped it off again to ringing cheers. All the female actresses received bouquets of embrium and crystal grace, and Mireille Coramonde ended up with three. Corypheus, Samson, Florianne, and Blackwall were all cheerfully booed when they stepped forward. Solas' actor was clearly meant to do another pratfall when he took his bow, but must have glimpsed Audrun's gimlet eye in the audience and did not. Then the troupe leader came out. Then the musicians. Then, judging by the presence of a beaming Yvette Montilyet, the set designers. Audrun's hands were getting sore.

“And finally, applause for the one without whom none of us would be here, the Herald of Andraste and our magnificent Inquisitor, Lady Cadash! Accompanied by Lady Josephine Montilyet, noted author Varric Tethras, Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia...”

There was smiling and waving. Audrun felt like the smile was frozen on her face.

“Pretend they're all naked,” Dorian said without moving his lips.

“You can say that, Cullen's actor is right in front of you,” she retorted.

“It's a small blessing I don't intend to squander. Oh look, now you get a bouquet as well.”

It wasn't a bouquet so much as a small decorative bundle of Andraste's Grace and embrium, someone in the troupe apparently aware of the dwarven tendency towards hay fever. She smiled some more, and tried to remind herself of what Cole had said earlier. _I'm their story. People need stories, as Varric always insists. And we did win, and I'm still here. If I want to, I can write the story myself._

And as if he were reading her thoughts, Varric leaned over Dorian and murmured, “You know what, I think I have an idea for my next book...”


End file.
